Verse 1:

I was born a poor black kid, Pops doin' a bid

ran down tenement, barely no food in the fridge

My Moms dukes had to raise my on her own

all alone, never had a Father home

I remember clear as day seein' my Mother pray

hopin' I don't be like my Pops and go the other way

but you get tired of your pockets bein' empty

gear skimpy, yo the peer pressure tempt me

at Thirteen had to get my by all means

sellin' to fiends, Pops up State raisin' Hell in the Greens

fuck that, I'm'a hustle, I can't see my Momma struggle

in these Harlem streets drama loves you.



Chorus - Some niggas may have, some niggas may not have, but God bless

the child who holds his own, who holds his own.